That Night
by fiona249
Summary: Short, happy AU fic about Chuck and Blair randomly meeting one night at a bar, and where they go from there.


"Who's that?"

Nate glanced up uncaringly. "I don't know. Some slut."

"Archibald, you never could recognise quality," Chuck drawled, his eyes still fixed on the slightly-drunken brunette across the room. Frankly he wasn't sure if Nate had even seen her – she was surrounded by tall, surgically enhanced hotties with dyed hair. Nate's type. It wasn't that surprising he wouldn't notice a petite beauty with minimal make-up, a nun-like outfit, and a distinctly uncomfortable expression. "She's a good one, I can tell."

Nate squinted, proving Chuck right. He hadn't seen her. "The… blonde one?"

"Wildcat in bed," Chuck said salaciously, ignoring his best friend. "Just you watch. It's always the quiet ones. I'm betting she'd be all sharp nails and begging and -"

"Ugh," Nate replied succinctly. "Please stop."

"I'm going to go fetch her," Chuck smirked. It never crossed his mind that he'd meet with a refusal – after all, he almost never did. That was the thing about being good-looking, great in bed, and worth a billion dollars – bed partners never took much effort. "You can find your own way home, I presume?"

"Sure," Nate said, distracted by a girl who shimmied close to their private booth. Chuck regarded her without interest – everything seemed to be natural, which was a point in her favour, but she still wasn't exactly his ideal. Over-exposed, over easy, with a too-eager smile and blonde hair that she flicked way too much in an obvious attempt at seduction. Whereas the brunette, sitting there fiddling with her drink and glancing around the room like she wanted to bleach the walls, she seemed more of a challenge.

Not that he'd be refused. Of course.

"Hello," he smirked at her, extending a hand. "I'm Chuck Bass."

She glanced at it. "Hello."

"It's customary to shake it."

"I'd rather not catch anything, thank you."

"Oh, me neither," Chuck grabbed her hand and kissed it quickly, making her flush slightly. It was barely noticeable in the dim bar lighting, but Chuck noticed everything. "I hope you're clean?"

"STD conversation. That's your chat up line?" The girl quirked an eyebrow, retrieving her shaking hand and using it to take a drink, slopping some on her arm in her hurry. He wondered why she was so nervous.

"I like to get the boring stuff out of the way quickly. Your place or mine?"

"You don't even know my name."

"So, tell me."

"You can call me B.."

"B," Chuck smiled like a shark. Her discomfort, her awkwardness… this would be so easy. "So, do you have any diseases I should be worried about?"

"More than a ten-dollar whore," she shot back, "But then, I expect you do too. I've heard of you, Chuck Bass. You're a ten dollar whore without the ten dollars."

"I promise I don't have any diseases," Chuck traced her hand with a finger, enjoying the way she tensed. "And I never lie."

"You're disgusting."

"But you haven't made an excuse and left. So you're interested."

Blair flushed. Of course she was. He was handsome, not in the perfect male model sense, but in the overtly sexual way that she normally ran a mile from. Control: that was Blair Waldorf's watchword. Control by knowing what outfit to wear, by knowing who to be seen with, by knowing who to date. Control by sticking her fingers down her throat. It was all about control and she could feel herself losing hers. It was in the way he sat there – radiating confidence, supremely at ease in his designer suit while she sweated through her Bendels dress. "I'm really not."

"But you're still here." Chuck leant over and, surprising her, pressed a chaste kiss against her mouth. It only lasted a second, but Blair felt the reaction all the way down to her feet – a whole-body shiver she couldn't understand or control. Goosebumps rippled down her arms and, shamefully, she could fell her nipples puckering under to thick fabric of her dress. Her next breath came in an embarrassing pant. He pulled away and smirked at her obvious reaction. "Oh, honey. You're already wet, aren't you?"

His voice was a low rumble. Blair fought the prickle of shame and dirty desire inside herself. "Again… I'm really not."

"Then give me a second chance. I bet I can… inspire you." His nasty grin suggested he knew she was lying.

Blair paused for a second, a wild and beautiful idea occurring to her. He watched as her thoughts played across her face. "Are you any good at sex, Mr Bass?"

"I… what?" she had the satisfaction of seeing his flabbergasted expression before he regained control. She'd strayed off his planned dialogue and that made her happy. She had no way of knowing that at least half his confusion came from his instant and bafflingly intense arousal at her use of the words Mr Bass – very 'happy birthday Mr President', especially in her slightly husky voice. "If you know me, you should know the answer to that question."

"Well, I know you've slept with a lot of girls."

"Obviously."

"_Once_."

"Excuse me?"

"You've slept with each of them once. What does that say, that all of them only want you once? You can't be that good."

"Oh, B. They want me more than once. I'm the one that says no."

"So you're good at sex."

"Exceptional."

"And modest."

"Clearly. I'm simply an all-round amazing person," Chuck leaned in, ridiculously entranced by the thoughtful expression on her face. The slight pout she made when she thought was simply delicious.

"So… if I asked you to sleep with me," she began slowly, and Chuck was immediately hard at the words.

"Yes?" he said, trying not to sound too eager. How was this girl doing this? A few simple, probably pre-planned sentences, and he was panting after her like she was Claudia Schiffer. It was something to do with her big brown eyes, or her too-modest dress, or the fabulous body barely concealed by her too-modest dress.

Blair smiled, leaning into him. "If I asked you to sleep with me, you'd do it, and then leave."

Chuck nearly swore. Dammit, of course she wouldn't agree to that! Everything about her screamed class. Oh, well, he could get around it. "I don't know," he said smoothly. "You seem very different from the kind of girl I usually… see," Truth. "I could perhaps be persuaded to make an exception." Twice, he assured himself, I'll fuck her twice. That will mean I'm not lying to her.

"Oh," Blair pulled back. "Sorry. That's not what I'm after."

"_What_?" Chuck wanted to scream, but managed to swallow it back. "I see. If I made it… definite… if I promised I would see you more than once?"

"You misunderstand me," Blair smiled, her crimson smirk suddenly belying all the innocence he'd imagined her to have. "I meant that would be a problem because _I _wouldn't want to see _you _again. I just want a quick fuck. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am."

Chuck was pretty sure his entire body had shut down by now, except for a specific area. Her well-modulated, careful voice coming out with that sentence… it was miracle he hadn't exploded. "I could do that." His voice was thick and gravely with arousal. "If you want."

"Oh, I want," Blair eyes swam with amusement as she stared pointedly downwards, causing him to stiffen further. Gone was the awkward woman sitting here in visible discomfort – a tiny bit of male appreciation and she blossomed like a flower. That probably said bad things about her confidence level, but right now she couldn't bring herself to care. "I very much want."

* * *

><p>When Chuck remembered the hour that followed, it was always in a blur of pleasure and beauty. He'd never felt quite like it before. There had been beautiful women in his suite – scores of them – but he'd always felt like he was a step back. While his body had been being physically pleasured, his mind had always watched, nastily commenting on how this slut had pulled her stomach in or that hooker was missing a fake nail. He'd always thought that was how it was – that was all it was.<p>

But whenever he tried to step back mentally from this girl – to distance himself – she forced him back into the mindless, all-consuming pleasure. Perhaps it was the surprise, since she used none of the stratagems he was used to. The tricks of the trade, the little skills a woman picked up, were mysteries to this B girl. For her it seemed to be entirely instinct – hands brushing there, nails biting there, mouth sucking Oh God _there_…

It wasn't like that at first. They had passed most of the limo ride in awkward silence, him not quite brave enough to kiss her unless she changed her mind. There was something about her that convinced him this wasn't a usual situation for her. But then she'd edged closer to him, and he'd edged closer to her, and then he'd lost his mind as they were kissing, and kissing, and kissing, and it was like they'd never stop.

It was only when he'd pushed a hand up her underwear that she'd recalled where they were. "The partition's open," she gasped.

Chuck couldn't help his smirk breaking out. "I could actually _feel_ you get hotter when you said that," he said gutturally, "Hotter and _wetter_."

"Don't," she squirmed in embarrassment, looking at Arthur, who of course had enough sense not to turn around. Chuck deliberately moved his fingers and she gasped. "_No!_ Wait! Until we're not…"

"…turning my driver on?" Chuck supplied, but withdrew his fingers anyway and reached for the button that raised the window between them. "Here, does that make you feel better?"

But they were already there, so he yanked her into the elevator and continued what he'd started. "Turnabout is fair play," he said teasingly into her ear as she shuddered around his swift fingers. He pulled them out, wordlessly threatening to stop unless she returned the favour.

"What?" she didn't understand so he grabbed her hand and guided it where he wanted it. Flushing, she started to do what he wanted. Only to pause abruptly. "Do you… is there video in here?"

"I'll erase them all," he promised hastily, pushing his hand against hers to force it harder against him.

"Don't," she said into his ear, "Give them to me."

It was, Chuck thought later, the weirdest, most wonderful night he'd ever spent. He'd finger-fucked her in the elevator, and even if it wasn't quite enough to get himself off, he'd certainly achieved that on the table in his room. And then she'd slid to her knees and given him a performance so delightfully sinful and yet ridiculously naïve that he was prepared to bet it was her first time doing that particular act. Those evilly red lips wrapped around his dick, with those innocent big brown eyes… he could have gotten off on the contrast alone. By the time they'd finally made it to the bed he should have only been in the mood to go to sleep and tell her to fuck off back home, but instead he'd found himself kissing her again until he felt quite ready to repeat his performance.

It was some time later when they both nearly asleep that he broke his own rules and actually really spoke to her. "How old are you?" he said into her ear.

"Twenty-one," she said. She managed to give him a twisted smile. "Not a virgin, if that's what you were worried about. Tonight wasn't about losing my V-card."

Chuck barely cared that she wasn't a virgin. Virginity, in his mind, said very little about a person – training virgins was fun, sleeping with experienced girls was fun too, but it didn't say anything about who they were. Virgins could have come hither eyes and excellent tongues, and girls who'd slept with a whole soccer team could nevertheless be too prudish for a sixty-niner. For some reason, it bothered him a little now – not that she wasn't a virgin, but the possibility that she could be with someone else. That could, after all, be why she only wanted a night. "What was tonight about then?"

She was silent for a long time. "Enjoyment. Release," she said finally, and paused again. "Freedom. I just broke up with my fiancé."

"Why?"

"He's a cheater. And I didn't like him anyway."

"Then why was he your fiancé?"

"Everyone else likes him," she said in a monotone. "He's sweet. He has an English accent, he loves his parents, he's high class, he's rich, he's handsome, he's polite…"

"Mmm?" Chuck resisted the urge to ask any further questions, merely stroking her back and waiting.

"…He bores me to tears. And he judges me. And he thinks that missionary is the only position in the world."

Chuck smirked. "I can see why that would be frustrating."

"Yes." Blair closed her eyes.

Before she could fall asleep, Chuck found himself blurting out another question. "So… it's weird. I've just slept with you, and I don't even know your name."

Despite herself, Blair laughed. "Please. Don't try and tell me that's a first for you."

"Come on. What's your name? Your full name, _B_?"

"Why do you care?"

"Maybe I want to see you again," Chuck said. To his surprise, it wasn't a lie this time.

Blair turned over and sat up with surprising speed. "Oh, please," she laughed, staring at him in disbelief.

"I do," Chuck insisted.

Blair stared at him. Of course, she thought, of course. This was part of his spiel. Charm women, lie to them… she knew exactly who he was. You only had to read the paper these days to know Chuck Bass's exploits. And now he'd gotten what he wanted, it was automatic to claim that he wanted more – get the girl to depart without throwing a tantrum. Next he would say he had to be up early tomorrow. Well, she could take a hint. She'd leave.

"What are you doing?" Chuck said, confused, as she started to pull her clothes back on.

"Leaving."

"Don't," Chuck said, with real panic. Even so he couldn't help wondering why he cared. It was just that this B was so different than the girls he usually had here. She was such a funny mix of the prudish and the uninhibited, classy and sexy at the same time. And her smart comebacks... her body… those beautiful eyes…"Come on," he coaxed, pulling her back to the bed. "Surely you can manage another round.

Earlier when he approached her at the bar Blair had thought, _Just this once. _Now, with his magical fingers trailing up her leg, she threw caution to the wind and thought _What the hell. Just once more, then._

* * *

><p>"Are you okay?" Nate stared at his friend across the breakfast table, as he'd done every day lately. As usual he was met by a bad-tempered grunt.<p>

Chuck had been very different over the past month. One morning he'd torn out of his room, frantically asking Nate if he'd seen a short brunette at the hotel. When the answer had been negative, he'd sworn a lot and refused to talk about what had happened. Nate's private theory was that the brunette girl – whoever she was – had stolen something. Possibly a gift from Chuck's father, or his stepmother. Something valuable, anyway. Whatever it was, it seemed to be eating away at his friend – he existed in a permanent bad temper these days. He didn't sleep around or party, he drank more than usual, and he refused to talk about what was the matter. It was ridiculous.

Chuck, meanwhile, was wrapped in his own thoughts. A month ago he had met a beautiful girl and had sex with her. So what? That was business as usual. So why was it dragging him down? He should have been relieved to wake up and find himself the only one in the bed. Interrogating Nate and the hotel workers was excessive. The fact that he still had to forcibly stop himself from viewing the security video from that night every day was even more pathetic. It wasn't even the sexual bits, either… it was her gracefulness as she crept out, her shifty eyes, the way that despite what she'd said and how she'd acted she'd still stopped to press one short kiss to his forehead before leaving…

He missed her. He'd know her for a few hours and he'd missed her.

If this was emotional attachment, no wonder he'd spent most of his life avoiding it.

"Would you look at this," Nate shook his head disapprovingly at the paper, hoping to get a reaction out of his friend. If there was one thing he knew about Chuck, it was that he hated the aristocracy.

Chuck tried to force a reaction, but he knew it came out uncaring. "What?"

"Some girl just dumped an English lord. Claims that she broke up with him months ago but they were keeping it quiet. According to this, he's still after her. God, you wouldn't catch me going after some girl after she dumped me. Jilted, even, since they were engaged…" Nate stopped abruptly as the paper was torn out of his hands.

_He has an English accent…_

_He's high class…_

_I just broke up with my fiancé…_

* * *

><p>Blair froze as soon as she stepped out of her building. Oh God, this wasn't fair. She hadn't been able to stop thinking about him, and here he was. "H-hello?" That stupid, ridiculous catch in her voice…<p>

He glanced at her, giving no sign he knew who she was. "Oh, hello. I'm looking for a woman, she lives in this building."

Blair wanted to ask if it was her, but she knew it wasn't. His face looked so uncaring. "What floor?"

"Forget," he said briefly, and then broke into a smile. "I should remember, though. I mean she's about to be my wife."

_Ding_. Blair felt the colour drain out of her face. So it was official. Chuck Bass couldn't remember her at all. And he was marrying someone else. It was exactly what she should have expected. "Oh… what's she… what's she like?"

"Kind of a bitch," he said serenely.

"That's a horrible thing to say."

"You know what's horrible?" He disconcerted her by turning to face her, his eyes burning. "Leaving somebody in a bed by themselves after having the best night imaginable with them."

Blair flushed. Alright, so he did remember her. "Maybe it wasn't my best night imaginable."

"Well, we could improve it with some handcuffs," he acknowledged, before turning serious again. "Why would you do that, B? Or should I say, Blair? Why would you leave like that?"

"I…" Her voice was completely gone.

"I think I know why," he continued. "I think your fiancé cheated on you, and even though you didn't like him much, it scared you and it hurt you. I think you thought that I was the same."

"What does it matter?" Blair stuck her hands in her coat pockets, giving him a mutinous look. "It was more than a month ago. I'm over it. You're over it."

"I suppose."

"You are getting married after all," Blair continued, hating herself for mentioning it.

"Yes," Chuck smiled, a genuine smile. "Fingers crossed."

"I'm happy for you," Blair lied.

"No you're not. You went very pale as soon as I mentioned getting married," the smirk was back. "That's how I knew."

"Knew?"

"That what I feel for you – that instant, insane connection – it's not one-sided."

"You're getting married."

He smiled again. "You idiot. Of course I'm not getting married. I just said that to see your expression."

"Oh," Blair felt a wave of relief roll through her. She rallied. "I'm not an idiot. I thought you never lied."

"I don't."

"You said you were marrying someone in this building."

"Well," Chuck pulled her close. "If you play your cards right…"

The End

* * *

><p><strong>Short and overly sweet, I know. But I wanted to cheer myself up.<strong>

**I want to be honest here: I kind of hate Chair fans right now.**

**The thing is, I'm normally the craziest one. I am there from the start of the ship and grimly stay on board as it's painfully and slowly sunk. I was rooting for Guy/Marian when he stabbed her with a sword. I'm all for Fred/Wesley despite the fact that they both died years ago. I think Sheppard still has a shot with Weir even though she's a Replicator now. In short, I'm a believer: the best couple will triumph.**

**And the other thing is: when I found Chair shippers, I thought I found a home. I thought: here's a bunch of people with the same insane, never-ending belief I have. They will ship Chair through the storm, the blackout, the prostitution, the infidelity. They will still be here at the end of the show, and no matter what the end couples are, they will be thinking CHAIR till their dying breath.**

**And you know what? I was wrong.**

**Because Chair shippers are abandoning ship like a bunch of scared rats. I get it, Dair seems to be taking over, But we all know that's mere cowardice – the writers are scared. They're scared because people assumed "Blair will never marry Louis, and if she does it won't last", they're scared because "Everyone knows Blair and Chuck will end up together". They put themselves into a situation where they have a fuckload of Dair fans and a fuckload of Chair fans. They can't afford to disappoint either group. So they think that if they put Blair with Dan, the Chair fans will go "This won't last five episodes! I'll keep watching!" And they were wrong. They were wrong because we don't have the insane loyalty of the Amish (and I feel free to use the Amish in this example merely because none can read this without violating their own rules). They were wrong because Chair fans everywhere are going "Screw this". They were wrong because you lot are turning off your TVs and swearing not to watch again.**

**And you know what this does? This changes the percentages. Currently, Dair is at 47% (admittedly less devoted than us). We are at 53%, and the more people who say "I give up", the more you are steering us towards a fan-inspired Dair ending. The more you're giving up on Blair and Chuck.**

**I get it: Blair has been a bitch lately. But I've been a Blair fan since the second episode, when Serena came into her home and Blair caused the world's most awkward silence when she said she had forgiven Serena "Until I found out you slept with my boyfriend". I was a Chuck fan back in scarf territory. I was a Blair fan when her eye make-up was odd. I have even been a Chuck fan since he was randomly trying to rape blondes. And that's my basis, right there: I can forgive Chuck for being a rapist. If I can't forgive Blair for sleeping with a loser like Dan, what does that say about me? I believed that the writers could make up for Chuck prostituting Blair out to a drug-using rapist, and I believe they can make up for Dair. Just give them time. Just don't stop believing. Because I think most of you have. Every time I open my hotmail account I get this twisty sensation in my stomach because I know there will be another depressing, sad Blair hatefic in there – from writers I love and practically worship. And despite the endless hours of fascination and amazement you guys have caused, it's now causing me discomfort and making me sad just to read your thoughts on the couple we've put all our crazy hopes in. Because I really love Blair, and not just because she looks like Leighton Meester. The more people condemn her, the more I want to defend her – and yes, I know that's strange.**

**Maybe it's pathetic of me to care about this. But it's still me, and I just want to know that some people out there remember that Chuck and Blair were the couple who managed to get through cheating, prostitution, schemes, Carter, Jack, Jenny, Vanessa, Nate… they got through pretty much every other character in the show. They will get through Dan. One of the producers on the show admitted that Chair is still endgame – it's all Chair, all the way. Dan is temporary. Sure, Blair is confused, she thinks Dan is what she wants. If you'll recall, Chuck thought he wanted Elle, Eva and Raina over Blair – only to remember that Blair is the only one who can rock that red lingerie in quite the right way.**

**I'm not saying keep watching. If you're sick of the show, fine. But I'm saying don't give up just because you think Dair is the new One True Pairing. It's like Nate/Blair or Chuck/Raina, with a miniscule shelf-life compared to the four years of care we've put into Chuck and Blair. I'm also saying that Blair isn't the antichrist – she's screwing up right now, but if Chuck redeem himself from the Empire/Jenny fiasco I think she can redeem herself from one mop-haired mess. Chuck isn't the good guy and Blair isn't the bad guy – so please stop acting like it's so simple! They're soul mates, but they're also twenty, and they're allowed to screw up along the way, provided the end of the final season (six, according to the makers) involves some more sex on a piano. Or in a limo. Frankly, I'm not picky.**

**I just want to hope some people are with me. And I want to open my email and find someone writing a Chair fanfic that isn't about Blair hating herself for losing angelic!Chuck. If it's that hard, stick to other seasons! Honestly, what does it say about people, that it's easier to write Chuck's point of view when it comes to hotel prostitution than it is to write why Blair might want stability after four years of ceaseless, passionate, dramatic awesomeness? Stories about Blair and Chuck shouldn't be about demonising one of them. It shouldn't be about an evil Blair, or even about an evil Chuck. It should be about two passionate, crazy schemers, who fall in love in a world gone mad. And I hope there's still someone around to read those stories, because if only the Dair shippers are sticking around here, then I may as well give up and find another couple to care about because I just can't get into that.**

**This became weirdly long and essay like. Really all I wanted to say is that I love Blair, and I love Chuck. And I believe that if we all stick to our guns and grit our teeth through a few more ridiculous episodes, maybe we can get the happy ending we've been waiting for. The happy ending we've waited for nearly five seasons. Because if we quit now, that's always going to be the ending: Blair with Dan. At least to us. And I believe in Chair, and happy, schemey fanfics, and a world with Bass children, and a limo.**

**I guess that's all. Feel free to tell me I'm ridiculous now.**


End file.
